Learning Bangladesh-ese

This week we attended a picnic for Tristan's new school program. He's going into the "gifted and talented" program (I really hate that phrase) which is located at a different school. Other than the fact that it was hot and we ended up sitting on a blanket on the grass (which is becoming less and less comfortable these days), the picnic went well. We met the principal who seems great; we met Tristan's teacher who seems great. A lot of questions were answered and Tristan got a tour of his classroom and the school. I'm hopeful that it will be a great year.

There's another side to this whole thing, though, that's harder to quantify. While we were walking through the hallways of the school, it felt so strange to think that Tristan would be spending his days there. It felt like we were walking through the streets of a foreign country: unusual sights, unusual sounds, even an unusual smell about the place. Tristan is going to a place where he doesn't know anyone. He doesn't know where the bathroom is or anything about the lunchroom protocol. He's spent the last three years becoming acclimated to a place where he feels comfortable, where he recognizes the cuisine and understands the language. Now I'm turning him loose in Bangladesh! What have I done?

Strangely, I'm the only one who's feeling this anxiety right now. I just hope that eight-year-olds learn to speak Bangladesh-ese easier than their mothers.